Chapter 2 - LOCKDOWN AT THE WESTCHESTER ESTATE
The heavy mahogany doors of the Westchester estate slammed shut with a deafening thud that echoed through the marble corridors like the hammer of a loaded revolver. Outside, the sound of luxury sedans screeching out of the iron gates faded into the humid New York night. Inside, thirty armed men in tailored charcoal suits fanned out across every doorway, balcony, and stairwell.
Dominic Moretti stood in the center of the foyer, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto the velvet sofa. His white shirt was stark against the dark shadows of his jaw. The sheer, suffocating gravity of his presence made the three security captains standing before him look like terrified schoolboys awaiting execution.
"Every camera," Dominic said. His voice was dangerously low, lacking any theatrical rage, which made it ten times more terrifying. "Every corridor. Every kitchen vent, wine cellar latch, and service elevator. If a mouse crawled through the floorboards in the last forty-eight hours, I want its lineage."
"Boss, the server room in the east wing suffered a twenty-minute blackout right around five o'clock," Marco, his head of security, stammered, his fingers trembling against his tablet. "We thought it was a surge from the storm generator testing—"
"You thought." Dominic stepped forward, closing the distance until Marco was forced to tilt his head back. "My son almost died because you thought. If Clara’s daughter hadn’t smashed that porcelain, Ethan would be in a body bag right now."
I pressed Lily’s head against my collarbone, sitting on the bottom step of the grand curved staircase. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I had worked for Dominic Moretti for six years as his head housekeeper. I had polished his antique silver, managed his fifty-person domestic staff, and ensured his private life remained immaculate. I knew the man was ruthless in business, a titan who controlled shipping lanes and real estate with an iron fist. But I had never seen the predator behind the billionaire’s facade stripped this bare.
Lily whimpered softly in my arms, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Dominic’s sharp grey eyes immediately cut toward the sound. The lethal frost in his gaze instantly fractured, replaced by an intense, brooding warmth as he walked toward us. The towering mafioso crouched down on one knee again, bringing himself eye-level with my three-year-old.
"Are you scared, little one?" he asked softly, extending a calloused, manicured hand to gently tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Lily’s ear.
Lily looked up at him through wet eyelashes. "The bad man had a snake on his hand."
Dominic froze. His hand stilled against her hair. Slowly, he looked up at me. "A snake?"
"Lily," I urged gently, rubbing her back to soothe her tremors. "Can you tell Mr. Moretti what you mean? What kind of snake?"
"A green snake crawling around his thumb," Lily whispered, drawing a squiggly line over her own tiny wrist. "He was wearing black clothes like Marco, but his shoes were dirty and smelled like wet dirt. He told me to go back to the party or the monsters would eat my shoes."
Dominic stood up in one fluid motion. His face had gone completely expressionless—a mask of pure, homicidal calm. He turned to Marco. "The Viper Syndicate from Brooklyn. They have an inside operator wearing our security detail's uniform."
"Sir, that's impossible. We vetted everyone three months ago—"
"Find him," Dominic cut in, his voice slicing through the air like a razor. "And bring him to the wine cellar alive. If he dies before I get answers, you take his place."
Marco swallowed hard, bowed, and sprinted down the hall with ten guards trailing behind him.
Dominic turned back to me. "Clara. Pack your things and Lily’s. You are moving into the family wing tonight."
My breath caught in my throat. "Mr. Moretti, that’s your private residence. The staff wing is perfectly fine—"
May you like
"The staff wing has standard locks and sixty entry points," Dominic said, stepping closer until his scent of expensive cedarwood and cold rain enveloped me. He reached down, effortlessly scooping Lily into his left arm while his right hand caught my wrist, pulling me up gently from the cold marble step. "Whoever poisoned that cake knows Lily saw him. Until I burn every rat out of New York, you and your daughter do not leave my sight."
Before I could protest, the estate’s emergency red lights began flashing, and the piercing wail of an intruder siren ripped through the house.
